


Winding Down

by flecksofpoppy



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-18
Updated: 2011-04-18
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:19:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flecksofpoppy/pseuds/flecksofpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bit of a moment-in-time fic set after AC, Rude deals with Reno's high strung and self-destructive personality in an unorthodox manner. Experimentally written in the present tense. And with the aid of cough syrup and plague.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winding Down

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently, the thing to do when you're hopped on cough medicine and THE FOG OF ILLNESS is to write moment-in-time fanfics in the present tense. I don't know where this came from; it popped out of my chest yesterday like alien spawn and wouldn't leave me alone. I think it's done. I'm still riding strong on cough medicine. You be the judge. Set after Advent Children.

Reno's wound up again, and Rude knows it.

Reno can feel the stare drilling into the back of his head, can already picture the dark eyes studying him in that specific way that manages to be both unobtrusive and penetrating.

They don't need a lot of words anymore, not since the last ten years together, but Reno still provides them, free of charge.

"What?"

It's night. They're at Healen, and it's been too quiet for too long. Time after Kadaj has been measured by the healing of wounds, and the abrasions on Reno's face have been gone for quite some time.

He's perturbed, maybe looking for a fight, maybe looking for sleep; Rude's not sure, since he just walked in. But Reno is all lines, stretched far too tight to keep him together for much longer, and when he speaks, they seem to vibrate all together in a dissonant melody that makes Rude's ears hurt.

"You headed somewhere?" he asks as he sits down on the edge of the nearby bed, warily, and Reno's back is still to him.

He knows that Reno's about to take out a cigarette, even though Elena emphatically repeats that smoking inside is forbidden. This rule was applicable when Rufus was, for all intents and purposing, dying. But Elena keeps driving it home, hoping. Rude often wonders if Elena will ever actually _get_ Reno, _get_ that if he doesn't have something to keep his hands busy like an electromag rod or a fight or a cigarette, bad things happen. And he realizes that he might be the only one who does get it. He blames this realization on time itself.

"Shit. I'm out of smokes."

"Drawer?" Rude points, and Reno's face lights up, just for a moment.

"Thanks, partner," he says, and he's trying to get it together, to calm himself down. He tries not to take it out on Rude anymore, not now, not when the world is so different, so comparatively _still_ , at least for them, relics from another era.

It's the stillness that drives Reno to tears with its maddening calm, all the calamity of his former life dried out like toxic paints in glass containers he can still remember the colors of. But he never even questions whether he'd want that life back, and he doesn't question what he wants in this new life, if anything. This is because he simply doesn't know how. And it's not a matter of being or not being a Turk (never a question), or redemption (impossible, not even considered); it's a matter of how to keep on living without going crazy.

The cigarette is gone faster than Rude can watch it burn down, inhaled into Reno's lungs like a balm that he's hoping will soothe the demon twisting inside of his partner. But he knows it's a temporary fix, just like too many words and too much booze.

And that is the problem. Reno is wrapped up as tight as a chainlink fence rolled in on itself; it's impossible to even see what's inside anymore. But Rude knows how to loosen it, flatten it out as best he can. At least until the next time Rude has to cast that same look at Reno's back.

The way that he unwraps Reno is all in the hands; it's the only thing that works. The tried and true method, and Rude has always been a big fan of high rates of statistical success.

Reno knows it's coming too. So when Rude gets close to him and pushes his hand between his legs, there's no surprise, no shock. Just Reno's sigh, the one that unnerves Rude even though he knows it's a little hypocritical given what he's doing, and he can feel the bindings loosen a little.

He knows _just_ how to possess Reno and shake him free, make him relax, when he pushes him to lie down on the bed and unzips his pants and starts to stroke him in the exact way he knows that Reno likes. He also blames this knowledge on time.

"Oh _fuck_ , Rude," he moans, "that's really good."

Rude always knows that he's successful when he sees the looseness of Reno's hips as they thrust forward, the untensed neck after he comes, the flop of a leg to the side and then a knee bent up lazily, opening himself up to a full view Rude never asked for. He doesn't think Reno is even aware that he does it in his post-orgasmic haze, even though he does it every time.

Rude only ever touches him with his hands, because that is all that's necessary. He sits on the edge of the bed, stroking, perfect, precise and measured and blowing Reno's world into messy, unthinkable proportions, all with his clothes still on and neatly in place.

When Reno looks up at him, he always looks away. But that's never stopped either one of them from continuing this ceremony.

When Rude leaves Reno in his explicit sprawl to recover, stands up and walks away, it's almost always the same routine. A sense of relief pervades the room, and because he doesn't like to leave Reno to his own devices on nights like these, he ends up sleeping in the extra bed, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. For them, it is. No explanation required.

But what does throw Rude off-guard is when Reno occasionally drawls out in a way that's almost comedically lewd, "So what can I do for you?"

And he always tells him to go to sleep. Because it's late and they have important things to do the next day and if he really wants to drink tomorrow they'd better have whatever it is Rufus tells them to do finished in time to hit up Edge. Usually Reno backs down; sometimes he doesn't.

Reno's ended up with a bloody nose, a nearly broken jaw, and more bruises than he can count. But it's his own fault and he knows it, for ignoring Rude when he tells him _no, I don't need a fucking favor_ and goes for it anyway. It's Reno's M.O. to do things like this, but sometimes, he wonders if Rude knows how badly he wants it.

He's persistent tonight, and Rude isn't quite as insistent that he leave him alone; they both sense something raw in the air, and for once, they're both cautious of it. They're cautious because they know it's something tangled up between them.

"C'mon," Reno says when he does get up, crosses the room to where Rude is lying on the opposite bed with his suit still on. He's casual. "I know you don't want a blow job or a hand job or whatever, but..." He thinks for a moment. The conversation is as practical as if they were discussing how to repair a gun.

Rude doesn't give Reno quite enough credit, sometimes, to remember what _he_ likes. So when Reno's hands strategically land _right_ on his neck at the juncture of his shoulders, he can barely protest. Reno gives a damn good massage, and that's one thing he's always willing to take. He lets out a huff of defeat but doesn't say anything, and Reno rolls him onto his stomach.

The jacket comes off and Reno's hands are the best thing he's felt in a long time against his muscles. He's not sure what strange currency it is that they trade in, but he doesn't mind too much. They've always had their own terms and rules, even though sometimes treaties and amendments are made through blood and fists; but that's just how it was between them. That's how it needs to be, always.

He feels Reno's hands go under his shirt, warm against his back, and he closes his eyes. It feels good, and he's okay with this. He doesn't want Reno to pay him back in sexual favors; he doesn't do it for something in return. He doesn't know why he does it exactly, and although his methods are unorthodox, he knows that it _works_ , knows that if he doesn't deal with the tension that mounts in his partner, Reno will destroy himself. Simple as that.

He is not expecting to feel the distinct sensation of Reno's mouth pressed against his shoulder blades, hot even through the fabric of his shirt, biting as fingers still knead lightly at his shoulders. The tension shoots through his body instantaneously, much in the same way that it does when he's poised to kill. He doesn't kill quite as much as he used to, but it's all the same principle.

"Wait," Reno's voice, frustrated. "Just fucking calm down for one minute."

Rude gives him the benefit of fucking calming down for one minute.

"Do you always say no," he says, "because you're not interested, or because you think I'm trying to pay you back by sucking your cock or something?"

"Both," is the firm retort. He's not expecting a response after the short silence.

"...Give me a chance."

He's never heard Reno ask anything of him before. Not like this. Not a question to which the answer "yes" or "no" has any major repercussions. Their decisions have almost always been made for them, by other sources that they chose to follow long before even knowing what the questions were.

Rude rolls onto his back to look at Reno in the dark; he can see his expression in the dim light shining in from outside the compound, and it is sincere. Not begging, not desperate, not angry. Just waiting for an answer, and Reno never waits for answers.

Rude pulls him down, and opens the opportunity silently. Reno's hands are everywhere all at once, unbuttoning his shirt, lips at his neck, hot breath at his ear, hard cock pressed against his thigh, hurrying along way too fast for Rude to even begin to process the events. Maybe it's on purpose; he's not sure.

Reno wants a sound. He feels like the desperation is leaking out of him in rivers, and he's afraid that Rude will know, and he doesn't want him to. He just wants him to moan. That's all.

Rude's skin tastes differently than he would have imagined, and he's imagined it frequently. He wishes it was saltier, wishes that he made his partner sweat more than he is right now, but it's better than anything because it's Rude. And then there's Rude's nipple between his teeth, and his hand on a hip and his cock against a thigh. Rude's thigh. What he wants.

Finally he gets a gasp. It's the second bite, and maybe the fact that Reno goes all out and pushes his hand between Rude's legs. He's giving it his all, because this is the only chance he gets, and even if it isn't everything he wants, he's sure as hell going to get out of it what he can.

"Don't you fucking get it yet?" he asks low now, massaging his hand against Rude's cock. "I don't do debts, and I don't do paybacks. I just _want_ you to _fuck_ me."

Rude's hips finally shift in the direction of his hand and Reno feels a surge of adrenaline. "That's right," he whispers, and his voice is so familiar it makes Rude ache. "Keep doing that."

He's stroking him in earnest now, and Rude has given up on trying to remain diplomatic. It does feel good. It feels better than he thought it ever would. It feels good enough that it's dangerous.

Reno finally gets his moan, and Rude is completely different than he's ever seen him, hips pushing upward, mouth open slightly, shirt unbuttoned and functioning on pure instinct. It's rare to see Rude unthinking, and he's not thinking about anything right now except Reno's hand on his cock.

"Reno," he growls, then grabs Reno in that frighteningly strong grip. Reno leans all of his weight into Rude as they crash together, throws his legs on either side of Rude's waist as he straddles him and shoves his hips forward. Their cocks slide together, both hard now, and they groan at the same time.

Rude takes a proverbial step back and catches himself when he feels his pants being pushed down, and then for the first time they're skin to skin. Reno sighs, as if expelling a breath he's been holding for a long time. It's that same sigh that unnerves Rude, the one he's heard before.

"Feels pretty good," Reno finally says breathlessly, then laughs a little under his breath. "Really fuckin' good, actually." More bravado than necessary.

In a moment of clarity, Rude considers saying no, going back to his old Plan A and telling Reno he's not interested, that he doesn't do sex repayment plans, that he only likes women. That he jerks Reno off because it's one of the only things that calms him down, takes him off guard and displaces his anger.

But Rude knows, in the back of his mind, in that dangerous raw place, that he likes it. That he likes to watch Reno out of the corner of his eye, that he likes it when he comes, likes the feel of his cock and the hot fluid over his hand that means Reno has finally come undone.

Rude likes to blame things on time, but he doesn't like to count--not in minutes or days or weeks or months. Time lends itself too much to valuations that don't make sense. But when he's backed up against the wall suddenly by memory, he's counting Reno and his moans and his tied-up high-strung ball of twine personality in years and apocalypses.

So when Reno asks if he's ready, he says yes.

"I've never--"

"Yeah. I figured."

Reno shows him how it goes--lube, fingers, tight heat--and for a minute just before, Rude's afraid he's not going to be able to keep it up.

Reno is thinking the same thing, but he knows he was the one who asked for this. He is the one who wants this, has wanted this. But he's relieved when Rude's cock stays hard inside of him, and it hurts in a way that's very real. He makes it good, sliding up and down with an expertise that leaves no doubt in Rude's mind as to what Reno's sexual preference has been for quite some time.

Objectively, the sex is mediocre at best. It's uncertain whether Rude will actually come. It's awkward as he tries to find a place to put his hands, position his legs in the right way, tries to angle his hips in a direction that makes sense.

It is the best sex that Reno has ever had.

Because this is Reno's only sharecropped plot of heaven that he's got staked out, and he can feel the earth trembling when he lays the palms of his hands on Rude's chest, feels every muscle working hard to thrust into him. And for just this moment, it's his to till, his to touch, his to dig his hands into, a dry desert, looking for oil or gold or water under the surface. He knows he won't find anything that he can keep though, especially when he feels Rude's heartbeat under his fingertips.

He knows he's going to die, one day, and he's okay with the finite quality of life. But he rides Rude like tomorrow is his last day, and it is in a sense: this, right now, he assumes, is the beginning of an ending moment, and their lives are on borrowed time to begin with. Because this is who they are, and this is their job, and this is a mortality that they willingly share.

Reno doesn't have enough humanity left in him to feel hope. This doesn't bother him, because he knows that even if he did, he doesn't deserve it. And it's not something with which to self-flagellate--he just knows. No one had to tell him, no one had to share their tragic sob story that he probably caused to convince him that he is a monster. But so is Rude. They both are, and they both know it.

Reno thinks that Rude talks about atonement too much, but it's because he's afraid of being left behind.

Rude is startled when Reno lets out a cry; he doesn't know exactly what he did, but he tries to do it again. It _does_ feel good, once he gets used to the new sensation, and the sight of Reno's sweat-soaked body arching backwards makes heat surge into every part of him.

It's Reno's voice that makes Rude come, the sound of his name accompanied by a few curses. Reno feels a violent arch upward, one of those priceless sounds, something hot inside of him, and then he comes too, still bucking his hips.

He doesn't want it to end. He wants it to keep going. Want isn't hope, but it's close enough for Reno, and it hurts along every hairline fracture that splits outward from the center of his chest.

Once he does fall to the side though, Rude's arms and legs are all wrapped up around him--a leg between his legs, the other flung over his hips, an arm around his chest and then they're looking at each other. And it's almost too much for Reno to take. He barely survives the next minute of silence as he is scrutinized. But then--

"Well then," Rude rumbles, decidedly _not_ unsatisfied, and the tension breaks when Reno laughs.

"Yeah. Should've let me do this years ago." A self-satisfied smirk, but it's lacking some of the usual swagger. He's a little broken tonight, but that's okay, because it's not the kind of broken that Rude can't fix.

 _Years._ The word triggers something, and Rude finally accepts that time is not to blame. Not for any of this. And he knows by now, can feel it, how much Reno has wanted this, how _long_ he has wanted this. But he's not saying it, and he's never going to admit it, and it's probably better that way.

They're both waiting for the other one to move, to be the one who untangles, who straightens up to meet the cold night air and walk away. Rude lies still, and Reno lies still, and even though the grip lessens somewhat, there's no talking, no words, not a thing except a motionless ravel of limbs. Seconds turn into minutes; minutes turn into hours; hours become a night. And then maybe nights. Maybe years. Maybe even apocalypses.

Reno's all wound up again. But this time, Rude knows it because so is he. And later on down the line, when he talks about atonement, it doesn't bother Reno so much anymore.


End file.
